Fiji-New Hebrides

After sails were hoisted and the reef outside Suva cleared, Mum yelled, "Fish". Mike arrived at the fishing line first and started hauling in the fish. Mum went to Grandpa's box and retrieved the gaff handing it to Stu. Meanwhile, on the helm, Dad bought Franda II into the wind and let the sails flap gently, spilling the wind to slow down. He needed to be mindful of the coral reef nearby to port and the passenger liner "Arcadia" overtaking on our starboard side.

Mike braced his feet and body against the fish's pull and Franda II's movement. Then, wearing one glove, he pulled the line in with his left hand. He then wrapped it around the stub of his right arm, holding the line until he could grab it again with his left hand and pull. Slowly the fish closed with Franda II. As it leapt out of the water to throw the hook, its rainbow colours and the way it fought confirmed it was a Dorado.

Stu leaning over the side and holding on with one hand, put the large gaff hook through the Dorado's gills. There was a crack as he lifted the fish, and the handle came up empty. So Mike had to trust the fish hook not to rip out of the Dorado's mouth and haul the Dorado onto the deck. A 22lb (10kg) Dorado is a beautiful fish to behold. Also known as Mahi-mahi or Dolphin fish, their dazzling golds, bright blues, and greens change colour and hues once out of the water, reminding me of a rainbow. Although their colours fade to a muted yellow-grey in death, I still grieve whenever we catch one.

Luckily the large hook of the gaff stayed in the fish's gills. Hence saving us the cost of purchasing another. However, we still needed to find another handle for the hook to be whipped to.

Once safely onboard, Dad filleted the Dorado, cutting his finger. It was not a bad cut, little more than a nick. However, it was the first time I had seen Dad cut himself while filleting fish, and I had watched him hundreds of times. Dad had also butchered all our meat on the farm. He was better than competent with a knife. So what was different this time? It wasn't rough; maybe something had distracted him. Whatever the reason, after his work was finished, he washed his hands and finger in a fresh bucket of salt water. I lovingly applied an appropriately sized band-aid which Mum had cut off the band-aid roll.

Nothing of the fish was wasted. Only the guts returned to the sea. The fillets were put on a plate and taken below, while the rest of the fish, head, backbone, tail and fins went into the pressure cooker to be turned into chowder.

Mum made excellent fish chowder. Once the fish bones were cooked and cooled, the juice was sieved to remove all the tiny bones, scales and other inedibles and put aside. The bones were carefully picked over, and any flesh found joined the juices. An incredible amount of meat is left on a fish carcass, especially around the head. The stock was then frozen to be turned into chowder later.

Another fish, a two-foot-long(60cm) barracuda with big teeth, was caught that day. Barracuda is a vicious, long, lean and fast-looking fish. They have even been known to attack scuba divers. We always took extra care when getting the hook out of their mouths as their teeth are razor sharp and numerous.

You guessed it, fresh fried Dorado with spuds and cabbage for the evening meal.

The second day out from Fiji was rough. Both Dad and I felt queasy, Stuart more so. Feeling seasick or just nauseous made it hard to get motivated to do anything unimportant. I liked to lie on my back as this settled my stomach. If I needed to be upright, standing facing the wind was the next best thing. However, feeling queasy never stopped the crew from doing what needed to be done. A sail change, pulling in a fish, cooking a meal. Franda II's crew never got seasick to the point where they thought they would die!

The seas had settled a little by lunchtime, making the watch for Mum, Kap, and me more relaxing. We were sitting out on the leeward deck, out of the wind, singing and holding the fishing line. Then, finally, we sang a fish onto our lure! Mum hollered, "fish". All hands hurriedly arrived on deck as any break in routine was enjoyed. I went to the wheel, disengaged the autopilot's clutch, and rounded up towards the wind spilling air out of the sails. A slower speed made pulling in the fish easier. Also, it lessens the pressure on the hook, hopefully stopping the fish hook from ripping out of the fish's mouth. Mike pulled in another 18lb Dorado.

Dad again filleted the Dorado leaving enough fresh fillet for dinner and freezing the rest in meal-sized packets. The bags had the date and type of fish written on them. This helped us to eat the older fish first. Or to choose what sort of fish to cook.

Franda II went fishless for a few days, so Mike put a different coloured rubber squid on the hook. He held onto the line in the hope of catching one. Disappointingly he didn't even feel a strike, so he gave up. A short while later, Mum was hollering, "Fish". It took both Mike and Stu to lift this one over the railing. On its tail, it "stood" up to my nose, and Dad estimated it at 35-40 lbs(15-18kg). I was small for eleven years, but it was a big fish and weighed more than half my weight. Again both lunch and dinner consisted of fish.

The crew will agree if you think fish are featured too often on the table during ocean passages. However, we never relied on catching fish for food. Being farmers, there was plenty of meat in the freezer for most days, even on an ocean passage lasting 2-3 weeks. So, as fish are free or almost, costing only the hooks, lures and a line and heavy trace, we ate them whenever available.

On Father's Day 1976, the land was sighted, New Hebrides, after a short 588NM passage of 5 days. However, it was not until the following day that Franda II reached the harbour of Port Vila. Knowing there was free water at the wharf via other yachties, laundry could be put to soak. The crew gathered their dirty clothes, sheets and towels. With some laundry detergent, these were put into the aluminium 20-litre "cream can". The "cream can" lived lashed to the mizzen mast on the poop deck and still had enough water to enable the clothes to soak, making the washing easier. The "cream can" had been full of water when we left Fiji for the express purpose of deck showers.